"Humph," Murphy mumbled as he batted at whatever was tickling his nose. When his hand came in contact with another hand, and he heard feminine giggles, he opened his eyes. He took a minute to remember why Clarke was there, and moreover why she was bald. Then the previous evening came back to him.

"And he finally rises. Your dead is loud." Her robe was half twisted around her exposing one breast, and he shook his head.

"Do I snore or something?" He asked as he slipped out of bed and walked over to the closet.

"No, dead people don't snore. But you talk in your death." Clarke flopped back on the bed. "You kept saying 'I didn't kill him.' What did you mean? Just between us murderers."

"And who did you kill?" he asked as he pulled out a button down shirt and slacks, both white.

"I scorched the ground and poisoned the heart of the mountain." Clarke pushed herself up on her elbows. "I'm as bad as Oppenheimer. Way worse than you."

He quirked an eyebrow at her and shook his head again. "Here put these on."

She snatched the clothes he tossed at her. "OK."

Clarke looked in the mirror after Murphy left the room. The white bandages were soaked through, so she went into the bathroom and changed the ones she could, cleaning the wounds out with peroxide. It hurt so much she screamed, bringing Murphy in a hurry.

"What's wrong?"

Through the mirror she met his gaze. "Can you take care of my back?"

"Ah, yeah sure." He dabbed her back with peroxide soaked gauze, trying to be gentle but thorough. Her gasps of pain and tears affected him more than they should have. "You need to move less. All you do is reopen these with all your flopping and twisting."

"It's my penance," she said through gritted teeth. "It's to hurt if it's to heal."

"That's from a movie isn't it?" he grinned at the image of a huge pure white furry dragon.

"They don't mean it the same way. Murphy, I wanted to apologize." She turned to look at him when she felt him put on the last bit of tape. "I know why you killed. They strung you up, and I banished you. That led directly to you getting tortured. I can see the damage I caused." Her fingers grazed the scars over his eye and down his cheek. "I'm sorry."

He pushed her hand away. "It's nothing. Get dressed." John pivoted and left the bathroom.

Clarke couldn't handle another moment of isolation, so clothes in hand, she followed him. He still wasn't looking at her, and she tried to get the clothes on, but her injuries made her too stiff to do anything. "Help?"

Turning to look at her, Murphy didn't understand how she could flop onto her back one minute and then the next not be able to bend over. "Give me the pants."

She handed them to him and let him sit her on the couch. He got her feet through the legs then helped her up to pull the pants up and fasten them. He helped her get her arms through the shirt sleeves and kept his eyes focused on the buttons as he buttoned her up. The entire process turned his stomach unfamiliarly. It was almost pleasant, but it was far from it at the same time. He left the top two buttons alone, straightened her collar, and said, "There."

"Thank you, John." Clarke wrapped her arms around his neck. "I couldn't be alone anymore."

He rested his hands on her hip and ribcage respectively so he wouldn't hurt her. "It's nothing. There's this powdered stuff, and all you have to do is add the right amount of water and it turns into pancakes. They're OK, sorta like a better textured ration round with an almost flavor."

"What can I do to help?"

"Keep your nose going. Tell me if you think I'm burning them. It's hard to tell when it's time to flip." When he saw her fidget with a can opener, he took it off her. "Don't touch anything you don't know how to use."

"Got it. Sorry." Clarke nodded, putting her hands in her lap. "Show me how to make pancakes."

Clarke watched the frying pan intensely. The first pancake was a bit dark, and on the second she said, "It's stopped bubbling. So the other side has to be solid. You should flip."

He used the spatula to turn it over. It looked perfect. "Now how do we tell the other side is cooked?"

"I don't know." And the pancakes no longer had her attention. She was off her seat and looking over the large television. Underneath she found movies. Clarke closed her eyes and picked one.

"Don't break anything!"

"I won't." She took a bit to figure out how to put the disc into the player, but once the disc was in the entire thing started on its own. There were trailers for other movies and then the main event started with ancient video game sounds and a kid coughing. By the time the old man showed up, Murphy set a plate with two pancakes on it in front of her as he took a seat next to her on the floor.

"What are we watching?"

"The Princess Bride." Clarke glanced at her food and rolled one up before taking a bite.

Her eyes were glued to the screen, but she laughed at all the wrong spots. Murphy wondered what she found funny about Wesley's deaths. When the movie ended, he said, "Let's put in something else."

"As you wish."

He smirked and found a title that looked more action packed. "How about Reign of Fire?"

"As you wish." Her smile was lopsided but genuine.

"This is going to be a thing with you isn't it?" Murphy asked.

"Unless you want to be the one fetching pitchers."

"How'd you like the pancakes?"

"Delicious. Now quit talking and let's watch the movie."

"As you wish," he said as he hit play on the remote.